


Exceptions

by Cody_Thomas



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Boys Kissing, Demisexual Sherlock, First Kiss, First Time, For Science!, Frottage, Intercrural Sex, It's For a Case, M/M, Sherlock Experiments on John, Sherlock likes testing theories, but not really, it's for Sherlock and we all know it, no it's not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-04-04 01:14:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4120927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cody_Thomas/pseuds/Cody_Thomas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John have made nothing but exceptions for each other since the day they met, and they haven't stopped since, so really, what's one more?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exceptions

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted in Minor Deductions, since this is a finished work and I am pretty sure I have finished tweaking it, I thought I would give it its own place.

He'd been bored, utterly, painfully, dreadfully, and cataclysmically BORED. His mind was a whirlwind of meaningless thoughts and facts, a rocket shredding itself apart upon re-entry, and there was nothing he could do about it.

He had promised John to avoid illicit drugs, and cigarettes, and for reasons beyond his ken he was actually wanting to keep his word for once. He didn't know why, perhaps to avoid that kicked puppy look John always got. He didn't know why but having John disappointed in him was infinitely worse than making the man angry with him.

He couldn't stand that LOOK, but couldn't define why. Why he categorized every single thing that the doctor did, expressions, schedule, habits, foods, clothes, hair, and everything else. Why had it suddenly become more important? Why had John become infinitely more fascinating than usual?

He lay there on the sofa meditating on a staple in his life who had always proven necessary but somehow had lately become absolutely essential, crucial, and unable to function without him. Sherlock had never thought of himself as codependent, but evidence would suggest that he was far more inclined to the propensity of the behavior than he had originally thought. But why? Nothing had changed recently; no known stimulus was different from the status quo. Even now John was out on a date, with some simpering, fawning, doe eyed twit that made John feel more masculine by giving him something to feel protective of. Classic Guardian temperament. But why should this particular fling be annoying him so much more than the other women Sherlock would somehow assure left John alone and stopped distracting him from The Work, and allowed them to get back to more important things?

She wasn’t any different from the others, late twenties, secretary, small dog, liked to garden, disliked pleasure reading, always wanted to be outside and meet in public places due to the remaining effects of a past abusive relationship, emotional more than physical, though the small subconscious flinches when John touched her suggested physical had been involved as well. But she hasn't told John about it yet.

Three months, longer than most of his women lasted and still hadn't had sex with her, she was far too reticent, but hadn't discouraged John because subconsciously she didn't know how to say no to more dates since John hadn't hurt her, pressured her, or been anything besides the utter gentleman he undoubtedly always was, and part of her didn't want to let him go because he was a 'good guy' whom she subconsciously knew anyone would be lucky to date.  
It was sickening and obvious that she wasn't really interested because she wasn’t ready for another relationship yet, but was forcing herself because she thought she should be in a relationship in order to get over what had happened instead of dealing with the fact that it had. Maybe that's why he hates her, because she was even lying to herself. That and she wasn't nearly as clever as most of John's women, at least the doctor had been clever. This one obviously wouldn't let go until John did because she feared the repercussions of ending it. Talk about co-dependent.

The door closed harder than usual, only 9:30 on a Saturday. Date thirty seven and John Watson still had not scored with his girlfriend... whatever her name was... Charlotte? Carol? Cynthia? Something with a C. The good doctor came in flustered and annoyed. 

"Tell me you were at least sensible enough to break it off this time." 

"What do you mean?" 

"She is too emotionally conflicted and injured to allow intimacy, and probably heard back from her ex if she was scared enough to blow you off before the second half of your date, which is stupid of her since you obviously also make her feel secure and safe as well. She needs a therapist, not a boyfriend. The sooner you end it the better off you both will be." 

"Why didn't you just tell me this before? You've never had a problem pointing out their flaws before now." 

"I tried. Your exact words were 'piss off Sherlock or I will destroy every experiment in the flat.' But after three months I just can't stand it anymore, not to mention I finished the last of my experiments, there's nothing for you to break, so your threat is now meaningless.”

"Wonderful. Any suggestions on the best way to break it off then, since you're such a bloody expert?" 

"Use a text, she avoids confrontation, and without a face to face she won't feel threatened. I suggest 'It's become obvious that we seem to be in different places emotionally, and I'd hate to pressure you into something that you don't seem ready for. I'm going to back off. If the time comes where you think you'd want to have a physical relationship with me, let me know, but for now I'm going to let this be goodbye.' Or whatever emotionally senseless drivel you usually say. I'm sure I would say something like 'Your lack of trust in me and past traumas are glaringly obvious, and have left you incapable of intimacy, get therapy and try again with someone better suited.' But I'm sure someone would say that was 'inappropriate' or 'callous'.”

John actually chuckled a bit, which made Sherlock feel warm inside. But why? John looked as he always did and yet... Oh. OHHH, well, that was a surprising development. He had considered himself above such things, but it seems as though John had proven himself exceptional in this way too. He was sexually attracted. To John Watson. No wonder he'd hated her. Interesting, he was apparently demisexual after all. This requires further study. With John. Who was just now putting his mobile away, after breaking it off with whatever her name was. 

"John. I wish to conduct an experiment on reactions, would you be willing to assist me?" 

"Yeah, sure, of course I am. What do you need me to do?" 

"React to the stimulus, don't think about it, just react." 

"Alright. Sure, go for it."

"Copper." "Penny." 

"Whistle." "Kettle." 

"Fire." "Gun." 

"Love." "Complicated." 

"Commitment." "Forever." 

"I love you." "Wait, what?" 

"I love you John, pay attention. I told you not to think, just react."

"Right. Um, sorry. Go on." 

"I love you." "I love you too." 

"Loyalty." "You." 

"Bravery." "By far the kindest word for stupidity."

Sherlock smiled. 

"Passion." "Dedication." 

"Lust." "Sex." 

"Kiss." "Gentleness." 

"Affection." "Touch." 

"Smile." "Often."

Sherlock had stood up by this point, staring John right in the eye. "Catch. " he said, and tossed a piece of antique blue sea glass that he'd found on Lestrade's desk. John caught it and Sherlock advanced, John, as usual, didn't retreat or try and maintain any personal space with him. 

He took John's wrist lightly in his hand and stared straight into his eyes. "Pulse." "Alive."

"Case." It was John's turn to smirk. "Pink." 

"Adventure." "Always." 

"Mad." "Brilliant." 

"Sociopath." "Wrong." 

"Really?" 

"At most you're bipolar Sherlock, and I want to burn the medical license of whatever idiot told you differently." 

"Interesting." 

"You." 

Sherlock felt himself blink in confusion for a moment. John's pulse was elevated, pupils dilated, cheeks flushed, he'd licked his lips five times in the past two minutes, three since Sherlock had taken his wrist.

He leaned close to John's face, his breathing quickened. "Kiss." 

"You already asked me that one." 

"I know." And then he leaned down and kissed John. John froze, gasped. John didn't move, not to pull back or to move forward. He stayed, wherever Sherlock needed him, however Sherlock wanted him, John wasn't going to back away from this challenge.

"Sherlock?" 

"Don't think. Just do the first thing you want to do John. There's no wrong answer. Just. React." 

"R-right." 

And he kissed John again. John pulled him closer. John kissed him back.

Touch, taste, texture, everything was data, data flooding through all of his senses. He let his hands card into John's hair, one of the few textures he hasn't been afforded yet in the everyday encounter. John mimicked the gesture on him, and he liked it, the sense of control it seemed to give John, that intimate touch on the back of his head.

John was far more knowledgeable here, more experienced, and he had three months of frustration built up. Sherlock made up his mind right then, anything, anything John wanted to do, Sherlock would let him have. It was almost a terrifying concept, but there was no one in this world that he trusted more.

"Just an experiment?" John whispered. 

"If you want." 

"And if I don't want it to be an experiment?" 

"Anything you want John." 

"Right answer. " John smiled. 

A smile was good, practically permission. He leaned in, kissed him again. It felt good, better than good, it felt right. "John..." 

"Shhhhhh. Busy right now." Again and again, why hadn't he seen this before? All that time he could have been kissing John until now, what a wasted opportunity...

They were moving, he didn't know whose idea it had been, and it didn't matter. What did matter was that they were closer, John had a hand around his waist, pulling him in, keeping him near. Then John was against the wall near the door, his legs parting slightly, allowing Sherlock to press closer, intimately closer, but it still wasn't enough.

The evidence was sliding into place like perfectly fitting puzzle pieces. It was the same thrill as when he had solved a complex case. He had finally, after three years, solved the mystery of John Hamish Watson. John had been attracted to him for ages, though the internalized homophobia had to have stopped at some point, Sherlock didn't know when, but wouldn't stand for its return. Everything right now was brilliant, and besides, John was perfect EXACTLY the way he was, there didn't need to be LABELS.

John was completely distracted with the kissing, so Sherlock pushed further, he knew EXACTLY what John liked after all, so how far was John willing to let him go right now? Fingers traced up under the edge of John's least hideous jumper, the oatmeal coloured one he'd been wearing on their first case together. There was barely a twitch as he went further, under the blue button up, and finally to warm, smooth skin. 

"S-Sherlock." 

"I know." And that earned him a shiver, John actually shivered in arousal in his arms. He pinned the doctor firmer against the wall with his body. "You tend to enjoy having your partners in your position. Not for dominance, but because you like to shelter them with your body, keep them secure. But with me, you don't feel that need as strongly, we're more on equal footing, not because you think I need less protection, if anything I need more due to the life we lead, but more the fact you worry about insulting me or my masculinity by attempting to do so in a non-life threatening situation. You needn't worry though." And he flipped them around, so that it was John pressing him into the wall, before pulling his doctor in for another hard and deep kiss. "My sense of masculinity will never be diminished by an outside force. I am male, and any behaviour I choose to partake in with another male is incapable of transforming my biological prerogative in any way." 

And that seemed to be the words that released the dam of emotions that had been holding John back. It was almost violent, purely primal, the result of self-denial for so long, and Sherlock submitted, allowed John to lead, he had more experience anyway. It was thrilling to have John step between his legs and GRIND against him like that, for those skilled fingers to deftly undo his belt, and not hesitate with the button and zip all while that eternally coy mouth kissed him as though it had become a much better replacement for breathing.

Sherlock meanwhile had managed to get John's jumper off and was working on the button up. He was a sensationalist, he enjoyed tactile sensations the most. And John was absolutely amazing to touch. Sherlock memorized him, every touch, texture, sound. The door to John's area of his mind palace was thrown wide open and the data was pouring in, never to be forgotten.

The way he gasped when his fingers trailed up John's spine, the exact texture of skin of John's deltoid flexing under Sherlock's lips, the duration of the shudder as he let his teeth graze John's neck. Nothing was superfluous, nothing about John was expendable or allowed to be deleted. John was essential, completely and utterly essential.

It took John four seconds to realize he had fully taken the plunge, and had Sherlock's cock well in hand. The experience was entirely different from the few times when Sherlock had done it himself, John's touch made him shiver. When John hesitated, Sherlock thrust forward into the touch. "John- it's alright. I told you to stop thinking, you really aren't suited for it right now.” 

“Later?”

“Of course.” Later they could talk, discuss, confront the mental, sort out the feelings. Well, John could if he wanted to, Sherlock wasn't in conflict with it, perfectly accepting of what he felt. He loved and wanted John Watson and needed him on the exact same level as air. John was essential.

It was a wonderful feeling as John's hand tightened around him, and Sherlock let his trousers and pants slide down as far as they could. Let his bare skin press against John's trousers. Something about that felt thrilling, forbidden, but John liked it as much as him. John's skin may have long ago lost that Afghanistan tan, but there were other marks which told of his life as a soldier. Forearm abrasion scars from repeated training, a scar on his right deltoid from barbed wire. A knife scar on his back near the kidneys where he'd managed to turn a stab into a slash and saved his own life. And of course, the long thick line of scarring with twin lines of dotted scars to either side of it on John's shoulder, that marked where the bullet had ended his military career, and again John had nearly lost his life. Sherlock kissed it, licked it, sucked it into his mouth. Part of him knew this could be a potentially terrible thing to say to John, but if anyone could understand, it would be John.

“I'm grateful you have this.”

“You like scars? Of course you like scars, look who I'm talking to.”

Sherlock shook his head. “No, I'm grateful you got this, because without it, we wouldn't have met. You'd still be in Afghanistan and I'd still be here, alone with just my thoughts and the drugs, and the work wouldn't be nearly as good as it's become because of you, and I wouldn't even know it. Without you getting shot, we'd both still be on our own and no clue what we were missing. This is far preferable.”

“So you're grateful to the sniper who missed my subclavian artery by a millimetre.”

“No, in fact I want to beat him soundly for daring to put a bullet in you. I'm just grateful you got shot and had to come home.” There was silence for a moment as John looked at him. “Bit not good?”

John smiled. “No, it's fine. Come to think of it, I'm grateful too. And you don't have to worry, we had our own sniper, he got the bastard who did it, head shot, half a kilometre away.” And this time John kissed him and Sherlock was smiling into it.

John was without his shirt, Sherlock had maneuvered out of his pajama bottoms and pants and tugged the t-shirt over his head. John was alternately kissing and nipping and sucking his way down Sherlock's neck in a trail of sensation, and when John bit over his clavicle, Sherlock couldn't stop the cry, the thrust of his hips, or the way his hand gripped into a fist in John's hair and forced him closer to it, wordlessly begging him to do it again, or to bite harder, perhaps both.

John's belt and button was undone, enough Sherlock could slide his hand down the back of John's trousers, grip the curve of that well toned glute firmly, pull him closer with it, encourage John to grind against him again. Tongues, teeth, their connection was bolder now, and Sherlock used his skills on John to a devastating effect. He knew where to touch and stroke, where to grab, how John would react to the deep vibration as he dropped his voice in register and spoke with his lips against John's skin, murmuring encouragement to his lover in a tone John would later name his 'Sex-on-velvet-dipped-in-warm-dark-chocolate' voice. 

Sherlock was willing to take John's word on it as long as it continued to make John shiver like that and make him bite like that again. Sherlock liked the biting, he liked it a LOT. Things were somewhere between needy yet gentle, and slightly rough/desperate/passionate/please-don't-stop. Sherlock was leaning more towards the second, and John was quickly following suit. This was supposed to be about instinctual reactions, doing what felt best in the moment and thinking about the rest later. Sherlock let that needy desperation rise, he wanted to see what John would do with it, how he would react. He was turned swiftly and they backed up a few paces until they tumbled and fell onto the sofa, Sherlock quite happily beneath John, who was pressed into the cradle of his hips. 

“John.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yes. The answer is yes.” 

He would never tire of John's eyes going wide in surprise, then dark with lust. “Oh? And what was the question?”

“Yes, I want to do more, and yes, I like what you've been doing, I don't find it too forceful at all, it feels good, keep going.” Then kissed John, hard, thrust his hips up, grinding them against John's, his body asking, begging, pleading to keep being touched. John didn't disappoint. John's trousers were lost somewhere on the floor in the next ten seconds of a devastating kiss that left Sherlock breathless, and then it was finally nothing but skin on skin, the entire length of John's body was pressed to him and Sherlock couldn't stop touching. His skin was mapping out and memorizing every movement, every shape and curve of muscle, discovering every last one of John's secrets, his entire body able to read John as easily as his eyes could.

It felt good, being touched by John, it felt so SO good. He barely registered the slickness of the lubricant, (something John must have had in his trouser pocket) until the friction from the hand on his cock disappeared and was replaced with a lovely glide down his shaft. John's expertise in anatomy did not fail him now, no, his thumb gliding along the frenulum, circling the glans, a long sure stroke down his shaft and up again that had him arching into it. Sherlock's nails scored gently down John's backside, neck to glute, then returned to his neck and back of his head, preventing any further thoughts from trying to distract John. He was rewarded with another kiss and another and another.

“How far are you wanting this to go Sherlock?”

“As far as you're comfortable with, whatever you are wanting to do. Stop thinking John, I would tell you if I didn't want this. What I want is you reacting to me and me reacting to you, wherever it leads us.” He nipped John's throat. “Stop. Thinking.”

It was a difficult thing, to have John obey such an order, but now that carte blanche permission had been given, John seemed much more comfortable, so it was worth it. 

John's hands began moving over his skin again, it was amazing how such a simple movement could have such an intense reaction, but he welcomed it, raising his head to lick at one of John's paps, feel the whorl curl and tighten under his tongue. 

“S-Sherlock!”

John's hands were suddenly entwined with his, pushing Sherlock's hands above his head, pinning them there as John again thrust towards him and Oh...OHHH that was an unexpected but welcome reaction. Sherlock's cock actually twitched upwards and got firmer, apparently such behaviour from John was a turn on. 

“That's better.” Sherlock murmured gently in John's ear, right before nipping it lightly and suckling the lobe, pulling a curse from John.

“Fuck, Sherlock.”

“If you'd like.”

He wanted to ravish the good doctor six ways from Sunday, but also wanted to see what John would do. Though his expression must have been easy enough to read, if the shudder John had while looking at him were any indication. 

John wanted more, but possibly not as much as penetrative sex, that would be too much too soon, but at the same time he wanted more than a hand job or oral sex, because John needed more friction than that. He suddenly knew what the perfect compromise would be for John and maneuvered his legs back together and canted to the side, so he was still facing John, and his hands were still pinned, but his knees were pointed off the edge of the couch.

“Slick up, and slide between my thighs John.”

Oh seeing John's pupils dilate like that was definitely a turn on for him. John was nestled happily between his thighs a moment later, thrusting hard without having to worry so much about pressing too deeply, John's cock pushing, sliding under Sherlock's scrotum and along the shaft... Oh that felt marvelous. Arching up into John's touch, coaxing John down into another kiss, Freeing one hand and keeping John in place by stroking the back of his neck. The hand holding his, he barely registered that John had entwined their fingers. The thrusts were hard and laced with frenetic energy, John grasped Sherlock's cock again and Sherlock offered himself up to the pleasure of it. John wasn't going to last long, and Sherlock didn't care if he himself orgasmed or not, as long as he got to see John do so, to drink in that reaction, to hold it forever...

“Mark me John, please...” Oh those teeth were glorious on his neck, swift and sharp, with just the perfect amount of suction... oh that did it, that sent Sherlock over the edge, thrusting up into John's hand, pressing down so the cock between his thighs could hardly move. As he came his eyes wanted to close, but he refused to let them, he wanted to see John, he wanted to see John seeing him, he wanted to watch John's reaction. It was not a disappointment.

“Sh-Sherlock- AHHH!” The thrusting became hard, frantic, his hand was released and John clung to him in a desperate grip and kept going. Sherlock urged him on, groping, stroking, urging on this beautiful man whom he had somehow gone and fallen in love with despite the odds. It was a beautiful look as John came, the heat of his spendings less noticeable than the added wetness now coating his thighs and cock was. John was literally trembling, and Sherlock moved to both free John and pull him closer on top of him so he could rest. The kiss was unexpected, but gentle, and Sherlock had learned in the past fifteen minutes that a kiss from John Watson was not an experience to be missed. He tugged the blue robe he'd tossed over the back of the sofa... yesterday? Over the both of them and soothed John with gentle touches of his hair and neck and lazily tracing down his back. John dozed off for a few minutes, leaving Sherlock ample time to study his companion. Unused to sleeping beside another person, a single unexpected movement where Sherlock couldn't resist touching the creases on that brow a moment longer, was all it took to wake John up again. And John tensed immediately.

“Oh John, please don't be tedious after being so brilliantly fascinating. Yes, we committed the taboo. Whoever put it into your head that you in particular deviating from the heteronormative in any fashion would be the absolute worst thing you could ever possibly do, is as erroneous and deserving of being beaten as apparently the psychiatrist who diagnosed me as a sociopath is. The world didn't end because we had sex, it doesn't make you any less straight or bisexual than you were an hour ago, you simply did as you have always done, and made an exception for me. Whereas I had believed myself to be asexual, I am apparently demi-sexual if we absolutely must place a label on things, only interested in sex with a person to whom I have a very strong mental and emotional bond with, otherwise I couldn't care less if I spent the rest of my life celibate. I love you John, whichever definition of the word you seem the most comfortable with would apply regardless. I love you, the same as you love me, I can't think of a single thing one of us would not do for the other. Does it really have to be any more complicated than that?”

John was still and silent for several moments, before he wrapped his arms tight around Sherlock, and shook his head, before kissing Sherlock's chest gently. “I don't want it to be an experiment.”

“The only experiment was to see if you would react negatively if I kissed you.”

John shook his head again then finally deigned to look up and kiss Sherlock gently.

“Kissing you is brilliant, no negative reactions here.”

“Lucky me.” Sherlock grinned and kissed John again. The fact they didn't stop lazily kissing afterwards for at least an hour didn't occur to either of them to mind.

****

“Blood.” John said apropos of seemingly nothing later that night after they had gotten cleaned up and John had made dinner and they were cuddling next to each other on the couch watching a crime drama.

“What?” Sherlock queried with a confused look, glancing about the flat. He hadn't had any additional blood in the flat for at least three weeks, what was John on about?

“I wouldn't give you my blood, for a transfusion. I'm A Positive, you're B Negative, we'd have a hemolytic reaction.”

Sherlock smiled and kissed John “Very well, ONE thing we absolutely wouldn't do for each other. But only out of necessity, not out of a desire to not do so.”

“Right.” John said, leaned over and placed a small, soft kiss on Sherlock's lips before turning back to the telly.

“I can live with that.” Sherlock said, and stole the bowl of popcorn.


End file.
